


Pizza Box from Briggs' POV

by elementalmystique



Series: Graceland 1.04 Pizza Box [5]
Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Eddie's suicide, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hint of Briggs/Charlie, Pizza Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalmystique/pseuds/elementalmystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Briggs' end while Mike is facing Bello and Eddie alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fly on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm obsessed with this episode (and this TV series) but I can't help it. It's incredible. I'll try to write more of other episodes though... as soon as I get all my Pizza Box thoughts out of my head. Terrible title, I know, but it's late at night and I'm tired.

Things are most definitely heating up. 

Briggs hates being helpless. Yet he has absolutely no choice but to sit and stew as the sounds of Eddie’s accusations and Bello’s rage transmit themselves over Mike’s hidden bug. All the while, there is nothing but stony silence from the kid. Even without seeing his face or body language, Briggs knows the kid is terrified. 

Then Bello levels his steely inquiry at the kid, and Briggs tenses up, waiting for Mike to answer. 

“No.” 

The response is so calm, accompanied by no heavy breathing or shaky tremors, that a little flame of pride ignites in Briggs’ chest. It is a lie that is so carefully delivered that even he himself cannot tell the difference despite his foreknowledge of the truth. The kid is out there facing heat from at least twelve guns and Eddie’s protestations and Bello’s infamous wrath, yet he is as cool as a cucumber. Briggs honestly doesn’t think he can do better himself. 

Eddie bleats out more arguments, but Briggs takes a deep breath as he focuses on Mike, trying to catch any sign of what is going on. Bello’s silence does not bode well, and despite himself, Briggs feels his heartbeat accelerate. 

“Give me your gun, Michael.” 

Shit. 

Briggs silently jerks his head, and the FBI team around him begins to strap on their helmets. There is a brief sound of staticky movement as Mike complies. How can he not? 

“Let him go.” 

Shitshitshit. 

Eddie must have stepped closer to Mike, because when he speaks, Briggs can only hear his hate-filled voice. Still nothing from the kid. Briggs can feel sweat bead on his temples and prickle at his collar. 

“I am going to take your eye, you piece of trash.” 

“This is going to end one of two ways,” Bello cuts in, interrupting Eddie’s rant. 

Briggs hears footsteps, and then nothing. The wait is worse than anything he has experienced up to this point in his life. Not knowing what is going on, and effectively being blind to everything, is absolute torture. 

Then, the sound of a gun being cocked is as loud to Briggs’ ears as a knife clanging against an empty sink. Immediately, Mike’s breath hitches. Briggs swears aloud and raises his hand to signal the team, and he feels the blood drain out of his face. He knows what is going on. Eddie has a gun trained on Mike, who is helpless since Bello just disarmed him. The thought of Mike’s life bleeding out of him in a scarlet flood flashes into Briggs’ head, and he cannot get rid of the image. 

“DON’T!” 

Mike’s anguished cry precedes the gunshot and the sound of flesh hitting concrete. 

Fuck. 

“Go! Go now!” 

He hardly recognizes his own voice as it rips from him. The tactical team seizes their rifles and lurches from the command center towards the exit. 

A very shaky breath, or two. Then Mike’s trembling voice comes over the speakers. “Oh, my God.” 

“Wait! Wait wait wait wait!” Relief surges through Briggs’ veins like acid. “That’s Warren.” 

The kid is alive. Which means Eddie is dead. 

Which means that the kid has just seen Eddie kill himself. A sick feeling starts up inside Briggs and continues to grow. 

“Now he has his pizza box.” 

Bello’s cool comment on his lieutenant’s death reaches Briggs’ ears, along with the sounds of his footsteps dying away. 

Mike says nothing, does nothing. Apart from his shaky breathing, Briggs hears nothing else from him. Cars rev up and their occupants drive away, but Mike does not walk away for another minute. 

Come on, Mikey, Briggs thinks. You can’t stay there. Bello will get suspicious if you remain over Eddie’s dead body for far too long. 

Finally Mike’s feet slap the concrete as he walks away. Briggs finds himself counting the kid’s footsteps until the door to the warehouse opens and the kid is standing there. 

He looks like hell, Briggs thinks. His face is completely expressionless, but the color has long since departed his cheeks. Outwardly he appears calm until Briggs looks for the signs and finds them — trembling hands, grim set of a usually smiling mouth, and an empty gaze, like Mike has departed for the night and left his body there in autopilot. Briggs steps forward and takes the kid by the shoulder, pushing him gently down into a chair. 

“Start packing up,” he instructs the team. 

They obey unquestioningly, unhesitatingly, turning away to attend to their own business. Briggs lifts Mike’s FBI jacket off from one chair and drapes it around the kid’s shoulders. Mike has his forehead buried in his palms, and he doesn’t look up, although he does flinch. The tremors have moved from his hands to the rest of his body to the point that Briggs can literally see his shoulders shaking. 

Part of Briggs feels like he should sit down with the kid and comfort him… somehow. Common sense, however, dictates this one. He’s not Charlie. He’s not Paige. At this point, he feels strongly that he needs to give the kid a little bit of space, to pretend like everything is fine for now as the kid gets his bearings a little more. He makes up his mind to talk to the boy back at Graceland. For now, he busies himself by bossing the tactical team around. As if they have read his mind, they do not argue or banter or ask him annoying questions, but merely do as they are told. 

When things are nearing a close, Briggs approaches Mike. The kid still has his face in his hands, and while his breathing has finally slowed, his body is still trembling. He jumps when Briggs puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“We’re done here.” Briggs manages to make his voice matter-of-fact. “Let’s go.” 

Mike obediently stands up, that empty look still in his eyes. He doesn’t question or fight when Briggs keeps his hand on his shoulder and steers him out of the warehouse and into the passenger seat of the car. Instead, he quietly buckles his seatbelt and rests his head against the window. As Briggs takes the wheel, he glances over to the kid, who looks for once older than his years. That boyishly handsome face is about as closed off and blank as a military veteran’s. He feels another current of worry crash against him and somehow swallows it down. If he overwhelms Mike, the kid might shut down completely, and he doesn’t want that. 

Neither of them speaks the entire ride. Briggs weaves the car expertly in and out of traffic. By some act of providence, they hit all green lights, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches the door of the Drop. 

Mike barely manages to yank himself out of his thoughts. “Where are we?” The look on his face almost tears Briggs apart, and he swallows, slamming shut the door of his heart on the tide of protective concern that threatens to huff and puff and blow his house down. 

“The Drop,” he replies, dredging up a casual tone of voice. “Soft-shell crabs. East Coast Girl. Remember your hot date?” 

Thank goodness for Johnny and his inability to keep anything to himself. Briggs gets a regular update on every subject and every agent under Graceland’s roof every single day. 

Mike blinks, and a hint of life returns to his dull blue eyes. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Get in there, kid. You’re late. And call me when you’re done so you don’t have to walk all the way back, okay?” 

Mike languidly undoes his seat belt and slides off the seat. Before he closes the door, he looks Briggs in the eye. Behind those blue depths, there is only a flickering hint of the kid who Briggs has gotten to know. 

“Thanks.” 

Briggs wants to throw him a cocky salute or reply with a flippant quip. Instead, he smiles at the kid in response and watches as Mike turns his back and trudges into the Drop. He keeps his eyes on Mike's back until the kid is out of sight. 

He has the kid's back for as long as he has to watch it. But now, Briggs worries that it won't be enough before the stress of this job tears Mike apart.


	2. Not Broken, Just Bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusive bit to Briggs' POV in the last part of Pizza Box. Refers to the last portion of Big Daddy and Mama Bear. Kudos if you get the song reference, ha ha. I swear that wasn't even going to be part of it until I was at the end of the doc and the line popped into my head.

Three glasses of rum later, Charlie begs out, her speech slurring slightly, saying that she has to take a shower. She makes Briggs promise to talk to Mikey when he gets back — not that he ever has the intention of breaking this promise — and to tell her what the kid says, even if she happens to be asleep, just in case he needs her. Then she drops a quick kiss on Briggs’ cheek, the print of her soft lips prickling the nerve endings of his flesh. 

He almost turns his head to kiss her on the lips, but he is too distracted by the thought of what has transpired tonight. It almost seems wrong to take that bit of pleasure in Charlie while he is worrying so much about the kid, even if the kid is now on his date with his dream girl. 

He leaves his bedroom door open and sits down on his bed, his ears tuned to catch the sound of Mike returning to Graceland. Charlie is in the shower right now, but he has been here so long that he can easily push away the sound of running water in favor of the front door opening. The rest of Graceland is silent — Briggs is pretty sure Paige, DJ, and Johnny are already in their beds or at least safely tucked up in their rooms. From what he has heard of their day, they all stared death in the face today and lived. All except for him and Charlie. 

His problem with that is that Mike has already had more guns pointed at him than the number of weeks he has been here at Graceland. 

He stares at the small Buddha sculpture who presides grandly on the meditation altar in front of his windows. Its gilded surface catches the light and reflects it on the trinkets scattered around — his sage bundle, a Tibetan singing bowl, a couple of candles, shells, prayer beads — and he scowls at it. The tranquil expression on the molded face almost mocks him. 

He is feeling anything but tranquil now, and Mike most certainly is the same way. For the first time in a long while, Briggs contemplates picking up the sculpture and tossing it through the glass of the window. The only thing that stops him is that it would wake the others. 

Surprisingly enough, Briggs hears the gentle creak of the front door about five minutes into his meditation. He glances at his watch and frowns; unfolds himself from the lotus position — checking the shower on his way out. A cloud of scented steam is the only trace of Charlie left behind, although there is a bit of light showing beneath her door. The others’ rooms are dark. He pads downstairs, avoiding the stair that creaks as he goes. 

The foyer is empty, and so is the living room. However, the light that Charlie left on in the kitchen still glows brightly. Sure enough, Boy Scout Mike is standing at the sink, his back to Briggs. Briggs winces briefly at the mess that has been left, and he is suddenly grateful that Charlie has cleared up most evidence of the food fight. There is still bits of the meal scattered over the counters and island, but with DJ and Johnny, you can’t really have everything. 

The kid is staring at the empty sauce pot like it holds the secrets of the universe, but the look on his face is devastating. Briggs bites back a sigh and walks up. He deliberately scuffs his shoes against the wood floors so as to keep from sneaking up on Mike; the kid blinks and swallows as he draws near, turning away from Briggs. 

Feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel, Briggs glances at the single Saran-wrapped plate left on the island, heaped with a mound of pasta topped with Charlie’s special sauce. He feels a pang of sympathy when he sees Mike’s name written carefully in Charlie’s distinctive handwriting on the sticky note, and turns around to lean against the island and look at Mike. The kid’s frame is tensed like a bowstring as he keeps his head turned away from Briggs. 

Mike is back far too early from his date. Briggs wants to berate him for walking home all alone in the dark from the Drop, since he’d already offered to pick him up, but it looks like the fresh air got the kid thinking. Unfortunately, knowing Mike as he does, Briggs knows that all those thoughts must have comprised of Mike replaying Eddie’s death all over again and blaming himself for everything. He sighs. “You want a hand with those?” 

“No,” Mike says abruptly. Briggs knows that the harshness of his voice isn’t intended to offend or wound. Luckily, he is not affected by the kid’s brusqueness. “I think I, uh, actually want to be alone right now.” 

Briggs can see that. He doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to tell how Mike is feeling. He fumbles for something to say in the following silence and his mind finally latches onto an idea. 

“I see they left you a plate.” 

Mike starts as if he hadn’t even noticed — which, in all likelihood with his blank stare looking inward, he didn’t — and turns around reluctantly. At the sight of the plate, he scoffs and turns back around, but not before Briggs sees the tears in his eyes. “I thought there were no leftovers.” 

“Well,” Briggs replies, “Charlie likes you.” He reaches out and gingerly claps the kid on the shoulder, squeezing once and hoping it conveys all he wants to say in that gesture, before he lets go and heads for the stairs. He doesn’t want to impose where he shouldn’t, and Mike definitely needs space right now. Briggs and Charlie can have another go at this problem tomorrow morning. 

Mike’s voice, however small, stops him cold. 

“Hey, Briggs.” 

He halts in his tracks and looks back. Mike seems like a little boy lost when he fixes those puppy-dog eyes on Briggs’ face. 

“Why don’t you eat it? I don’t have an appetite.” 

Mike’s overbright eyes are illuminated by the overhead lights in the kitchen, and Briggs finds it almost difficult to look away from the combined expression of earnest sincerity and guilt-ridden pain on the kid’s face. 

“No, man, just heat it up tomorrow.” 

“Nah,” Mike protests. “You missed Sauce Night too.” 

Briggs’ first instinct is to gawp. He barely manages to keep his jaw from dropping. Even while he is immersed in his pain, Mike Warren is still thinking of other people. Still worrying about everyone else and not himself, when he has every right to skip washing the damned dishes tonight and go straight to bed like he deserves. Instead of saying all that, though, he merely nods and chuckles humorlessly. “Yeah.” 

Mike looks away and back down at the sauce pot. In the tilt of his head, Briggs sees both emotional agony and yet a proud strength of character. Despite however shattered the kid has come away from tonight, it gives Briggs his first glimmer of hope. A burst of pride wings its way up in his chest, but he swallows it back down. 

“It’s just sauce, Mike,” he says. The kid needs that plate far more than Briggs does. It’s not the food — it has never been about the food — but the pride and effort and time that Charlie has put into preparing it. Just like the strength and smarts and sacrifices that Mike has poured into Graceland. Thrust into this new environment completely unprepared, and faced with hostility and life-shattering situations, the kid has only thrived and pushed the cases he has received to new heights. True, this case has nearly cut him off at the knees, but for the first time that night since Eddie and Bello’s confrontation, Briggs thinks that Mike Warren will be all right. 

He trots towards the stairs, looking back just once as the kid’s face crumples momentarily before training takes over and he straightens up, turning on the water and scrubbing stubbornly at the inside of the sauce pot. 

Briggs hates statuary and sculpture. He never has seen the point of it, because to him most statues are perfect with no cracks or chips in the least bit. People place them on pedestals and praise the lack of flaws, but Briggs despises that sort of thing. The only statues worth looking at, in his opinion, are the ones with bits missing and cracks running through them and stress lines here and there. It is evidence that those statues have withstood the test of time and every attempt to break them. 

The kid isn’t broken, just bent and cracked a little bit. Part of Briggs still worries — of course he would worry; Mikey is still one of his and he can’t help that powerful surge of protectiveness that hits him when he calls the memory of Mike’s teary blue eyes to mind, Paige’s teasing grin, DJ’s brash manner, Johnny’s cocky singsong, or Charlie’s soft lips grazing his cheek. But the other part of him feels like Mike would be able to withstand the test of time and the world’s attempts to break him. 

Damn, there isn’t a day that passes where the kid doesn’t remind Briggs of himself. 

He heads for Charlie’s room, his heart feeling both immeasurably sobered and yet alight with a small spark that feels suspiciously like a tiny bit of hope and pride mixed together. Given enough time and magnitude, that spark will kindle a lasting flame.


End file.
